Tagged with edmund

luncheons not truncheons

It is my final week at work and it seems we’ll be having many a lunch. Last Thursday Holly and Edmund and Rob and I went for Thai food around the corner (since Holly was on her way to New Zealand the next day). That was pleasant enough. The food at the Thai place is a lot sweeter and not nearly so spicy as better Thai food, but still. We never did get to go out bushwalking, what with Holly’s schedule at Patisse occupying her so much of her weekend time here.

Then Holly went to Christchurch on Friday. I spent my weekend doing homework, watching movies, eating the last of the food in our cupboards (I didn’t want to buy any groceries this week, but ended up getting some ice cream today), and thinking about buying a pair of shoes.

I also sold Holly’s bike and the rental agent came by to show the apartment to a prospective renter. He’s such a slippery guy. He came in pointing and concern-trolling about how the place looked. There was a bit of mold on one of the walls that is nothing resembling our fault, but he tsk tsked and said when we do the final inspection on Friday he hopes it’ll be cleaned up. He could of course quote a price on getting it cleaned professionally… Fucking guy. Peter is going to move into our rooms and wants our double mattress, the one we found on the street. He’s also going to look after some of our stuff between me leaving on the 2nd and us heading back to the North on the 19th. Hooray for Peter.

Yesterday Edmund and Rob and I went up the Sydney Tower for lunch in the revolving restaurant. It was excellent. The place was filled with old people, and the elevators seemed in poor condition, but we watched the city rotate slowly beneath us for an hour. We could see all the way out to the Blue Mountains and Manly and the airport as well as peer down and marvel at the cranes and window washing apparatus so many tall buildings have as part of their superstructure. The vegetarian options were probably the best I’ve had at a buffet like that. Baba Ganoush and bread, loads of good salads, Indianish and Chinese dishes, all in all pretty decent.

Friday will be my last day at work. I’ve got the apartment inspection in the morning and have to get on a plane at around 6:30pm. And then I’ll be joining Holly in a life of vagabondery for a while. I never feel as much like myself as when I’m on a train or a bus or other conveyance. It’s going to be a good December.

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decadence and depravity so completely optional

Today was the something-or-otherth running of the Melbourne Cup, a massive horse race in Melbourne (though if you watched any of it you might be forgiven for thinking it took place in an Emirates airliner). Despite my work history I know and care very little about horse-racing. I know how the bets work but couldn’t handicap a horse if my two dollars depended on it. Which it did. I will now spoil the ending to this story by revealing that I am not now a millionaire due to my horse-picking skills. Nor a thousandaire.

A couple of weeks ago Edmund asked if I was interested in going to a lunch for the Melbourne Cup as a “team-building exercise.” The three of us from the office would go to a lunch at the Art Gallery where an ABC announcer would be calling the race and there’d be champagne and classy hats and it would all be an appropriately glamorous event. I said sure, and Edmund bought tickets to the fancy lunch.

I was prepared for displays of wealth and/or the aspirations towards wealth and got my observational mind ready to take notes. I mean, that’s what writers do at horse races, right? Observe the people who care about the sport of kings and how utterly appropriately they behave in accordance with those aspirations. So today I wore a tie for camouflage and was ready for Derby-day-esque 1% shenanigans.

We were in the elevator heading down to Edmund’s car when he was looking at the tickets we had. And he paused. “The National Gallery of Art? That’s not what they call it.” The three of us shared consternation (in glancing and frowning form). Edmund had a terrible feeling that was confirmed when we went back up to the office to check the internet: this lunch was in Canberra.

This is the hazard of buying things bound to locations in a medium that is so locationless, I guess. I saw the email Edmund had received and it didn’t actually say Canberra anywhere on it.

So we went for lunch at the nearby Thai place, bought a bottle of champagne and stopped off at a TAB to place a couple of bets before returning to the office to watch the race on our television with poor reception. It was a fine race. Edmund’s horse won, which goes a little way towards offsetting the donation he made to the National Gallery of Art.

And that is my Melbourne Cup story.

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